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Pluck
Poems
Nov 2023
November
Earth's canvas, leaves fall on paint.
The sun becomes a recent memory, there but faint.
The air feels like a restart.
It wasn't my year, but this is my part.
When the leaves fall, I pick myself up.
Holidays, where we forget the selfish stuff.
Hold my hand, search my eyes, & judge my plate.
Cold weather, warm houses, and allergic faith.
Written by
Pluck
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Pradip Chattopadhyay
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